Cant Be Erased
by Tjin
Summary: Life is a Game. Self Insert. You've seen it before, I died and was given the chance to do it all over again. I refused, this life sucked the first time, with a little prodding from myself I managed to convince me to play, even if just for a little bit. Now I am stuck in a world of Monsters.
1. Chapter 1

-Can't be Erased-

Written to 'Bendy and the Ink Machine - Can't be Erased'

 **GAME OVER!**

 **Would You Like to Restart?**

 **Yes/No**

Glancing at the screen in front of me I blinked for a second before reaching up and carefully tapping the glowing 'No' where it floated in front of me, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened, An angry young man with a chip on his shoulder had shot me because of my work uniform.

Despite what Hollywood said it hadn't been a quick or clean passing, I remember being in in pain, in shock, the frantic efforts of a rather pretty young officer that had been first on the scene, the EMT ride to the emergency room, fading in and out in surgery and finally the pain fading away before I found myself here with some asshat asking if I wanted to do it all over again.

 **-What?-**

Glancing up at the confused word that was now floating in front of me I shrugged again and turned to take stock of where I was now. "Don't feel like doing it all over again, ninety percent of the shit sandwiches I had to eat were outside of my control so even if I did things different I'd still be stuck eating the same thing," I said before shrugging again and laying down on the floor with a sigh "I'm tired of making chicken salad out of chicken shit, send me on my way if you please."

After a moment of silence the words seemed waver in place before a small glowing form stepped out of them and stood over me prone form with their hands on their hips with a scowl. **"What do you think you are doing?"** it demanded as I once more shrugged in place.

"Either this is real and I'm dead, in which case I'm not at all excited about going through all that over again. Or this is a story that I'm currently writing in which case I used a real event with a different ending in which case I'm an asshat and I refuse to be the pawn of an asshat, even if said asshat is my own self." I explained before looking at the glowing form with a single raised eye for several seconds before it shimmered into a slightly older form of my own self and simply flopped to the ground beside me with a grunt.

" **Do I have to be such an asshole?"** my older self grumbled darkly before laying back in the darkness **"So what do you want to play ball and stop stalling the damn story?"**

Snorting at that I glanced over at myself "We already know what we want."

 **"Yeah but we're fucking with the fourth wall here, the readers don't know me so stop acting like an ass and get on with it."** My Author self groused as I nodded at that.

"Fine, Fine to avoid typing out a shit-ton of poorly thought out naval gazing to explain things I want regeneration so I stop hurting all the damn time, an 'Instant Dungeon' ability so I can act out without getting in trouble." I asked as my older self nodded in acceptance.

" **That everything? No sexy harem or world conquering powers?"**

For a moment I considered it before shrugging my shoulders once again "You know I'd like a companion so I'm not alone. But we both know I have no clue how to write that without them being a cardboard cutout with the emotional range of a tuna. No, healing and 'ID Create' is plenty to start me off with."

My author self nodded in understand before turning look at me **"I gotta ask, do you want to go back home?"**

"Who won the election?"

" **Does it matter?"**

"Fuck it, I always wanted to travel."

" **Liar."**

As the dark realm I had found myself in faded away I couldn't help but feel that I was going to be an asshole to myself in some way.

I also had the feeling I needed to come up with some more descriptive terms for when I talk to myself.

* * *

I found myself standing in an alley away from the flow of traffic in a pair of tighty-whithies and a pair of pink bedazzled crocs with a small black leather wallet tucked into the elastic band.

Opening the wallet I found a universal ID and a universal Bank Card inside along with a small smug note to myself about being an ass.

Fortunately I had set myself down outside of a 'Goods Will' store, taking a deep breath to settle my nerves I strode out into the foot traffic outside the alley and without a single note given to the gasps of the populace at my appearance I entered the used clothing store and headed for the Men's clothes section.

Snagging a white Tee-shirt off the fifty cent stand and Popping the tag off a pair of faded work jeans in my size I slipped into the dressing room and quickly robed myself.

In short order I had clothes, socks and a Pair of worn out boots from the shoe section in my size as I stood before the glaring cashier "Sorry, some of my friends decided to haze me by stealing my clothes and shoving me out of the car." I said with an embarrassed chuckle that caused the older woman to simply huff in acceptance before handing me my recipe.

"You might need some better friends young man." She said glancing at her I finally saw the pop up atop her head **-Mary Withins Lvl 9 Merchant-** as I accepted her advice and after dropping the horrific pair of crocs in the donation bin outside I glanced around, so long as my gaze was sweeping the multitude of pop-ups that should exist were unnoticeable, should I focus on someone though, say for example the man in a grey wool suit on the corner.

 **-John O'Dell Lvl 25 Regional Manager-**

Or the cute brunette down the street.

 **-Alice Cleek, Lvl 7 Street Walker** * **-**

Glancing at the asterisk symbol at the end I found a list of sexually transmitted diseases and odds that I would contact such in the event I used her services.

Shaking my head I turned and walked down the street, stopping to grab a soda from a vending machine before I took a seat and began to focus on people as they passed.

 **-Davis Taylor Lvl 11 Unemployed-**

 **-Andy Nelson Lvl 5 Cabby-**

 **-Richard Harper Lvl 10 Construction worker-**

 **-Reba Bonney Lvl 19 Corporate Thug-**

 **-Sissi Fox Lvl 21 ?-**

 **-John Wells Lvl 14 Spokesperson-**

 **-Kayla Rasch Lvl 8 Accountant-**

 **-Observe has leveled up, you may now see more details.-**

Smiling at that I took a sip of my drink as I glanced at the next person to catch my eye.

 **-Oliver 'He who Seeks the Dark' Chapman, Lvl 25 Dock Hand-**

 **Werewolf**

I very carefully swallowed the fizzy soda in my mouth and turned away from the monster in human flesh and spent several seconds staring at the traffic as it zoomed past.

Thanking carefully I tried to put the pieces together, a Werewolf of any sort was bad news for me, if it was grimdark like the White Werewolf series there was already probably a dozen elder gods circling in looking for my head.

If I was someplace like Underworld then the Vampires were the power behind the scene and bad things were about to happen.

If I was somewhere like Twilight…

I shuddered at that thought before glancing back towards the werewolf and froze.

 **-Agent 'OH SHIT ITS' Franks Lvl ? Problem Solver-**

' **NOT' a Flesh Golem**

Franks was currently staring at me from the far side of the intersection, Agent Franks was currently staring at me from across an intersection.

Let me make this clear.

AGENT FREAKING FRANKS WAS STARING AT ME FROM ACROSS THE INTERSECTION!

I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was a dead man, Franks would pop my head off like a bottle cap and use my twitching corpse for spare parts.

For a moment I lost sight of him as a panel van moved through the intersection and then he was there, right next to the goddamn bench in his FBI special issue suit and ten bajillion levels of god killer strength.

Without a word the man/thing sat down on the bench next to me and simple stared at me.

Imagine that for a moment, the supernatural equivalent of a walking, talking atomic bomb just sat down next to me and was currently staring at the side of my head.

"You Know Who I Am?"

For a brief slice of time I considered lying, saying I had no idea, selling him a story that he looked like my uncle Danny from out in Washington.

I also considered screaming in terror, pissing my pants and passing out.

I'll be honest at the moment the second option seemed far more reasonable all things considered.

Taking a shaky pull from the soda I nodded, a small dribble of grape soda ran out the side of my lips and dripped down onto the white shirt I was wearing before I cleared my throat "A-agent Franks of the FBI"

For a short eternity he stared at me before turning to the street as a nondescript Crown Vic pulled to a stop "Get in"

He wasn't forceful or rude but I was well aware that no matter my opinion of the matter my future lay in taking a ride in that car.

I would get in, or he would get me in.

Draining the last of the grape soda I did what I was told.

* * *

"It's locked from the inside." Jerking my head from the door I looked at the driver as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I've seen people that Franks has picked up before, most of them would rather take their chances with the pavement, the doors lock from the inside now."

In the passenger seat Franks grunted and continued to stare out the window, there was probably a story there.

It was probably one I really didn't want to hear.

Leaning back I took a moment to look at the other Agent.

 **-Charles Dunn Lvl 37 FBI-**

 **Human**

A click pulled my attention back to Franks and I gulped as a massive revolver was pointed at me, apparently Franks could tell when I used Observe and was not pleased by it one bit.

The rest of the ride was in silence, in short order we had arrived and I got to sit through me first 'Sally Port' procedure, as we sat in the secure section that made sure you couldn't run out when a car drove in I tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong.

The answer of course was 'The moment I decided to write a self insert' story I spent the rest of the time ion the car cursing myself for being so stupid..

In short order we had parked and I was extracted from the car and quick marched through the Federal building to a rather pleasant but all the same intimidating interview room with a very formal lady sitting across from me with a stack of papers that I could smell the warm ink on.

"Good evening Justin, do you mind if I call you Justin?" she asked and smiled professionally when I nodded, "Excellent, I'm Agent Abigail MacArthur and I'll be your interviewer today."

Glancing at her I sighed and leaned back in the seat "once you're caught in a lie you lose all rapport with your interviewee, your name is Dorothy Gale Doolin and you're a Special Agent, you specialize in psychological responses under stress, you can evaluate me through the glass if you want but you don't have a chance in hell of me opening up to you now."

After a moment she stood from the table and left, brushing past Franks as he entered and took the seat across from me, carefully glancing over the file they had on me before closing the Manilla folder and simply raising an eyebrow at me. "At no point in time am I going to lie to you, If you don't answer my questions I fully plan to twist your appendages off one by one until I get the answer I want from you, should you die before I get the answer I want I will have a necromancer the Agency keeps on staff resurrect you and we will begin again, do you understand me?"

At my nod Franks leaned forward with a glare "tell me what you know."

"Dippel, Kurst, Project Nemesis-"

Anything else I could have said was interrupted by Franks hand lashing out like lightning and my whole world going dark.

* * *

(A/n) I do not own the 'Life is a Game' or Monster Hunter International


	2. Chapter 2

**Regeneration Active**

 **Lower Mandible Fracture - 0:32**

 **Spinal Damage - 2:21**

 **Torn Sternocleidomastoid Muscle - 3:21**

 **Grey Goo Concussion - 5:21**

 **Skull Fracture - 12:22**

Blinking at the list of injuries and the timers counting down in the upper left corner of my sight I let out a soft sigh, this small movement caused several reactions, most important of which was a good bit of pain from my jaw, formed condensation on the inside plastic of the body bag i found myself in and drew a sharp shriek of whoever was responsible for disposing of me.

Ignoring the pain I took a deep shuddering breath and gasped "ID Create"

Immediately I could tell that things had changed, primarily the screeching from whatever hellborn banshee that occupied the room with me had stopped.

Laying in the bag as it began to heat up due to my body heat I watched as the numbers counted down, as my jaw healed I slowly began to shift around enough to fumble with the zipper, which unlike the Hollywood version was a sealed zip around the side of the bag rather than a double sided zipper down the middle.

Struggling for my freedom as more and more as my body healed I struggled to control the rising panic I felt at my confined state.

Giving up on the zipper as Hypoxia was added to the things my regeneration was combating I instead used my legs to stretch the heavy duty plastic as much as possible before using my fingers to try and breach the bag.

Luck was with me as i managed to poke a hole in the bag after a minutes struggle and with a grunt ripped my way to freedom.

And by 'ripped my way to freedom' i mean i struggled and fumbled with the bag like a particularly stupid chicken for nearly ten minutes before i fell off the gurney and re-earned the 'Concussion' status affect.

Cursing the universe and my author self in particular i took a minute to stamp on the offending bag that had dared to challenge me before i took a look around.

Apparently the Monster Control Bureau had its own crematorium on hand and I had been mere moments from becoming a chicken nugget.

Tossing the bag into the incinerator I gleefully fiddled with the controls until i could watch the bag burn and cackled gleefully as it was destroyed with fire.

Thankfully I'm not a petty and vindictive man.

After destroying my foe and taking a deep breath to stop the cackling laughter that I had been enjoying I began to poke around the room, collecting a pair of emergency pants the worker had stashed in one of the lockers I commandeered a zip tie to use as a belt due to the rather rotund size of the man in question, i was mildly surprised to find my wallet in the pants pockets before shrugging it off, I probably gave it the 'Rabbit Slayer' affect.

Foregoing shoes or a shirt i poked my head out into the hallway, the empty 'Dungeon Dimension' was actually rather spooky if I was honest, the absolute silence would probably get to me if I spent to long in a place like this.

With a shrug I headed for the exit, I wasn't sure if Franks, the MCB or any of the great outsiders could access this dimension but I wouldn't put it past my author self to allow such a thing to happen, I asked for this ability so I could have a nap after all, which one hundred percent meant that I would never be allowed to nap in here.

Little Did I Know.

The more people in a dimension that knew about the great outsiders, the more power those outsiders had.

As the only resident in this realm that meant that one hundred percent of the population was aware, far off in the aether I felt a rather malignant mind enter into my realm, bleeding like an ooze into the space between and forcing it's way into my space before it appeared on my mortal plane with an ear-shattering howl of glee, as it burst through the veil of reality.

I could feel it's delight in its ability to walk upon the firmament of realspace, and it's anticipation of spreading their bounty of plagues upon mortals.

Diving into a janitor's closet nearby I quickly dropped the Instant Dungeon, with a snap i felt the presence give a brief shriek of rage as it tried to maintain the realm by itself before the dimension collapsed with it inside.

 **Greater Unclean One Slain, Access to the 'Warp' is now available.**

 **WarHammer Ability Earned.**

 **Cool Down:**

 **WarHammer: 8783.59.59**

 **Warp Travel is now available.**

 **You have earned the ire of a greater outsider: (Nurgle).**

Blinking at the ability and the long cooldown before I could earn something else I ran the numbers across in my mind before snorting, I had a year and a day before I can earn something else from the Warhammer universe.

Checking the 'Warp' ability I found that it operated much like a fast travel system in most games, with most major cities highlighted around the world, there was an option for extra planets to be added but that was currently greyed out.

Taking a moment to check on my Instant Dungeon I sighed as I tapped the option to lock it from outside influences before returning to the 'Warp' option and tapping the Illinois option.

For a brief moment of eternity I was lost in a technicolor nightmare of sensations before I found myself standing before the Illinois statehouse in Springfield, the crowded plaza shifting around me slightly as the press of humanity went about its business.

For a moment I considered walked away, just turning around and disappearing before a dark idea took form in my mind.

Heading towards the state building I spent a pointless couple of minutes trying to navigate the area before letting out a sigh.

"ID Create"

Moving through the empty city I found that the Instant Dungeons only went out about a hundred yards in each direction, forcing me to leapfrog their use or risk having to put up with humans all the way.

Needless to say I leveled up ID Create and Escape several times as I moved through the building before slipping into the office of the man who would be president, still hidden behind the veil I pilfered a pen and some stationary before taking a seat in the surprisingly comfortable chair and getting to work.

Penning it to Director Stark of the MCB I made sure to keep my penmanship as professional as I could as I wrote out the short message.

 _ **Tell Franks that Next Time he needs to stick with 'The Plan'**_

 _ **-Justin**_

Beneath that I drew a small sickeningly cute unicorn with 'Special Task Force' written inside a heart as a cutie mark on its flank

Folding it up I slipped the paper into official correspondence envelope and addressed it to the Monster Control Bureau office in Washington DC.

Moving down to the mailroom I slipped out of the Dungeon dimension for a moment and slid the envelope into the 'Outgoing' pile before dropping back into my own dimension making my way outside.

By the time I was done I knew I was on a deadline, Franks, the MCB and Special Task Force Unicorn would now be out for my head and outside of the great outsiders I had a hard time thinking of anyone i would less prefer to want me dead.

And apparently I had already managed to piss one of them off, I mean at least it was one that I already knew about but i still wasn't filled by warm fuzzies at a god of pestilence wanting me dead.

Setting out at a run I smiled as my regeneration began to heal my heart, lungs, legs and feet even as i earned a 'Running' skill that began to level up.

Dropping in and out of my dimension as I ran to keep away from the humans I tried to come up with a plan.

By this point my dungeon dimension had leveled up to the point where I had several miles of space each time I created one, I could also summon the quintessential 'zombie' dungeon but I didn't feel like testing myself against the undead in nothing more than a borrowed pair of pants.

As I ran I began to put things into categories of needs vs wants.

I 'Needed' money, training and a way to level up my combat skills so I didn't get clobbered by the heroes and villains that dominated this world until I found a way out.

Coming to a stop to rest as my healing worked on my out of shape body I took several deep breaths and just took in the sights and reading the local advertisements, my mind froze as a nearby paper loudly declared the start of a week long airsoft tournament.

Blinking at the memories of war games that I used to play, I decided to try and cheese some levels.

* * *

Gaining access to the tournament was both easier and harder than I thought, easier because the forms were all standardized and quickly filled out once I arrived.

And harder because I didn't actually have any gear.

Fortunately I discovered that some parts of the ID world remained real when I brought it over, while other parts may as well be painted on landscape for all that I could interact with them.

Worse and Better for me the parts were apparently random each time I jumped into a dungeon.

After nearly an hour of grinding I managed to equip myself with the basic safety gear, some decent clothes, pellets and a single pistol spring action revolver, nothing to write home about and it explained why people didn't just take stuff from an empty dungeon.

Standing at the start line as the referee explained the rules for the ten billionth time I carefully adjusted my grip on the revolver style pistol and cursed my author self for being so stingy on the loot, I certainly understood it, especially if he was actually going to give me a gunfighting skill from this, but I would still prefer something with a bit more kick to it.

As the airhorn went off I dashed into the field with a half dozen other players, desperately trying to gobble up as much real estate as possible before the other team.

Diving over a row of fifty-five gallon drums I rolled forward and came up in the center of an enemy formation.

Fanning the pistol I managed to hit one of the five before i was hit and had to return to spawn.

As I walked back I smiled as I earned **'** **first blood' 'ambush' 'bushwhacker'** and two levels of **'** **pistol'** combat with a specialization in revolver.

Smirking as I stood in spawn I began to reload the revolver as waited for the countdown until I could get back into play.

As my respawn activated I once more dashed forward, earning another point in 'Run' as I moved into the killhouse area of the field, the close quarters area keeping me from being swarmed as I fought, thumbing the hammer back to set the spring I waiter as the rumble of feet alerted me to an incoming group, waiting for the last second I popped out of the doorway and gained my second ambush of the day, hitting three of the five before diving back into the door to avoid the chatter of return fire.

Hugging the wall I slipped further down the hall for cover before I reloaded again, cursing the spring loaded piece of crap I was using as the survivors of my ambush moved to cut me down, fortunately another member of my team served himself up as a sacrifice as he charged down the hallway screaming a battle cry of LEEEROY AH-JEEEEEEENKINS!

Turning towards the suicidal charge my attackers cut the teen down in a spray of gunfire, losing the second to last member of their squad to his erratic return spritz.

Rising from my cover i fired a single shot into the back of the last mans head, getting a curse and a rude gesture as he called himself out and began heading back towards his spawn.

Smiling as I earned another level in **'** **Pistols'** i replaced my expanded shot and moved to get some more levels.

* * *

Sitting on my bed in the top floor of the Hilton I had copied with my Instant Dungeon I stared at the options I had earned throughout the day.

 **Lvl 10 Pistols:**

 **Specialization: Revolvers**

 **Title Earned: Six Gun Kitty**

 **+5 Speed/Damage with Revolvers**

 **Feats: 1**

 **Gun Kata: Through analysis of thousands of recorded gunfights, the Cleric has determined that the geometric distribution of antagonists in any gun battle is a statistically predictable element. The gun kata treats the gun as a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents while keeping the defender clear of the statistically traditional trajectories of return fire.**

 _ **Increases the combat effectiveness of the player by a rising percent**_

 **Gun Play: By engaging in a bit of gun play you manage to use movie magic to trick a reload, at it's mastery a simple twirl is enough to reload a full cylinder, where the rounds come from and where they go are questions best left to those not enthralled by the magic of your art.**

 _ **Allows unlimited reloads through gun tricks**_

 **Do You Feel Luck: Uh uh. I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well to tell you the truth in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. But being this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world and would blow your head clean off, you've gotta ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, punk?**

 _ **Increases the number of shots a pistol can be fired before a reload is needed.**_

 **It's High Noon: Focus. Mark. Draw. Take a few precious moments to aim; when you are ready to fire, you shoot every enemy in line of sight. The weaker his targets are, the faster you will line up a killshot.**

 _ **Focus and fire a round into each target in your field of view.**_

* * *

 **(A/n) Which feat would you take?**

 **Also, for those that are not aware, Special Agent Franks is the bases for the Frankenstein Story... only he isn't as nice or forgiving as the Monster.**

 **Quick recap *Spoilers* Back in the time of Creation the Heavenly Host was given a plan... The Plan (Yes capital and all.) by the creator, the host would be reduced and made human until they died and were reborn, that way they would be able to understand those that they were to protect.**

 **A third of the host was not as happy with this plan as the rest and protested led by the one called** ** _Kurst_** ***Cough* after the war in Heaven those that rebelled were cast into the pit where after an eternity they began to torture themselves and anything they could touch just to feel something.**

 **the psychic bleed through of this is why people have dreams of 'Hell', one of the Angels though made a bargain that he would be allowed to stay on earth to protect humans, fast forward to the 18th century and a man named Dippel had created a Golem powered by the Elixir of life, The Angel possessed the golem and 'Franks' (He wasn't called that at the time) was born, fast forward even more and he cut a deal with George Washington, Franks would serve the U.S. and protect the new nation from supernatural forces and Washington would do everything in his power to make sure that no more 'Flesh Golems' were created (Because the rest of the Host were floating about trying to find a way in and they were not as nice as Franks, not that he explained that bit in the contract.)**

 **So Franks is a Fallen Angel Possessing a Flesh Golem that is tasked with protecting humanity from everything that goes bump in the night.**

 **he is in no way a nice person, primarily because he is NOT a person, he is the supernatural equivalent of a Terminator in a permanent bad mood.**

 **fast foreward to modern days and Special Task Force Unicorn (STFU for short) is a super black bag project that uses monsters to do super black bag things (The NID from StarGate wouldn't touch these guys.) the name is a joke because 'Unicorns Do Not Exist'**

 **ha ha, funny.**

 **The leader of STFU see's Franks as the ultimate weapon (He Is) and thinks that he is a Flesh Golem (He Isn't) and wants to make an army of them that he can control (He Can't) so he frames Franks for attacking the head of the Bereau (He Didn't), creates the Golems (He Shouldn't), the Golems get possessed by pissed off fallen Angels (Which is bad) and Franks does what Franks does best (Bad Bad Things).**

 **End of the Recap, Cut, Print and Get it to the shelves, so I've just pissed off the MCB (Who hunts monsters) STFU (Who use monsters) And the Monster of Legend himself (That would be Franks.)**

 **Oh, and an Outsider that wants to devour all of existence in a frothing Black Plague styled orgy of SAR's and Swine Flu mixed with Anthrax and a particularly bad Shrimp Curry.**


	3. Chapter 3

Dropping the needle and thread, I let my head droop slightly as I rubbed my eyes. The last five hours sitting in my room had been spent grinding my craft skill up.

The needle and thread had been bought at an all night pharmacy and mini-mart combo and the cloth had been picked up by grinding the dungeon dimension enough that I had a collection of sheets and assorted clothing.

Thankfully, the 'ID Create' skill offered more junk the more I leveled up the skill.

At level twenty in ID Create, I had access to Empty, Zombie, Humans (Lesser), Humans (Major) and Humans (Elite). Apparently I earned a new style of dungeon every five levels and I was a little stoked at the idea of gaining access to opponents other than the run of the mill 'Human' variety, even though those would probably offer me the best access to the tools and equipment I needed. If only I had an actual gun, I might actually try my hand at them.

Shaking my head at the thought, I glanced over at the pop-up that indicated I had access to new skills. Special Skill (Craft: Sewing) has leveled up, you are now at level 12 in (Crafting: Sewing)

 **You may now craft (Basic) Clothing**

Feats: 1

Available: Labor Lost - You will know as soon as you start if you will succeed or not, saving you time and resources. As the skill grows, so does the knowledge you gain when starting a project. At the highest levels, you can earn equal amounts of XP for projects avoided with this skill as you would by completing the project successfully.

In Stitches - You may hide secrets or small tools in the stitches of your clothing. The items may be difficult to retrieve, but are all but invisible to searches. As the skill grows, so does the size of whatever items that you may secret away and the ease of access to the equipment as well. (At level 50 all storage spaces come equipped with a free mallet that can be accessed at will.)

 **Sewing Savant - You skip the 'Novice' skill level and earn your Journeyman Sewing abilities. You also earn 2x XP in all sewing related skills, guarantees opening up the 'Vestment Virtuoso' skills at the highest level of sewing.**

Machine Gun Mending - a flash of needle and thread and you are off, your skill at the trade is something of legend, allowing you to sew at speeds rivaling sewing machines with no loss of skill.

Hidden Haberdasher - You always have the right odds and bobs on hand, from buttons and bobbins to Wadding and Wing Needles, you are never left with a half finished project because you failed to collect enough Trim.

Glancing through the available options, I blinked before shaking my head. Each of the options available was worth the effort to take them, yet I could only take one.

With a dark oath towards my author self who was sitting behind the desk, I tapped on the option for the 'Sewing Savant.' I then blinked as a plethora of information flooded into my mind, filling out my rather limited skill set and adding a new dimension to the sewing abilities I had ground out.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, I realized that I was almost late for the next round of competition and I would need to get a move on if I wanted to play today.

Shrugging to myself, I stepped out into the hallway and let the ID universe collapse. Suddenly staring at the shocked housekeeper that was standing several feet away, I gave her a cheesy smile and wave before hitting the Warp ability and taking off for the field.

Popping into place outside the Airsoft grounds, I was startled as a rather large text box took up my vision.

 **Challenge: a powerful individual has taken note of your claim to the 'Six Gun Kitty' title and taken offense, he has challenged you to a duel.**

Face off against Adam and earn his respect.

Reward: 1 uncommon weapon, 1 feat, may earn notoriety towards advancing the title.

Failure: you lose respect and may no longer claim the 'Six Gun Kitty' title.

Note: Initial Challenge levels are non-lethal.

Yes/No

Blinking in shock, I tapped the to accept option before glancing at the older man standing across from me in the early morning light. Blonde hair was tucked out of the way under a Stetson hat as a long leather duster shifted in the morning breeze.

Honestly he looked like he stepped straight out of a bad western movie. The only thing that kept me from mocking him was the information I gleaned from the observation skill.

 **-Adam 'Ricochet Genius' Shalashaka, Lvl ? Badass-  
Human+**

"Whenever you are ready," the soft, rasping Russian accent was enough for me to finally click on who my opponent was.

"REVOLVER FUCKING OCELOT!" As the words passed my lips I realized that perhaps blurting out the codename of an interrogation, Close Quarters Combat specialist and spy was a less than bright idea.

In a moment, the world seemed to slow down around me as the six gun legend began to move.

The Gun Kata feat was already paying dividends as I twisted away from the shot I could tell was coming.

Ocelot had swept his coat aside and had a simple, yet massive pistol drawn before my hand had touched the butt of my own. Wrapping my hand around the plastic grip as the older man's first shot screamed past my head, the second nearly clipped my side as I wrenched the weapon out and thumbed the hammer, but a double strike from behind me stopped my draw dead in its tracks.

' **Defeat'**

Looking down, I frowned at the two small white pellets on the ground at my feet as I rubbed the back of my head.

Glancing about at the empty parking lot in confusion for several seconds, I tried to figure out how the hell he had hit me from the back before my mind connected the two small dents on a handicapped parking sign and a nearby trash can with my opponents title. Scowling darkly, I turned back towards the Russian gunman, or at least the empty space that he had occupied, before shaking my head.

"Hacked ass motherfucker."

 **Challenge Completed +5 to Quickdraw, +1 Feat, +50 Six-Gun Notoriety, Earned 'Bulldogger', Earned $500.**

In Ocelots space, a Gun and a Small pile of cash sat ominously. Reaching down, I pocketed the money before focusing on the weapon in my hand.

' **The Bulldogger, Bulldogging is a technique where a hard riding Cowboy would tackle a wild steer from the saddle and drag it to the ground, a far more badass version of the cow tipping joke many country folk play on gullible city slickers on their first visit to the country. This Remington 1875 is part of the 'Dusky Demon' set, combining all six parts will earn a +5 damage modifier.  
**  
Shaking my head at the loot, I tucked the hundred year old weapon into the back of my pants before slipping my shirt over the handle to conceal it.

Moving towards the office, I quickly paid the ten dollars necessary to rent a storage locker before secreting the weapon in the locker before I geared up and headed for the field.

I needed a lot more experience in Gun-Kata and quick draw before I felt comfortable in entering one of the dungeons.

Flicking through the options, I added the 'Gun Trick' feat, ignoring the new options for the moment as the referee walked us through the rules and expected levels of professionalism he had for us before we split up and moved to the two sides of the field. Rubbing my hand on the pistol and the cheap ass nylon holster that held it, I made a secondary mental note to put some effort into getting a better holster before I looked over the revolver I had won.

As the horn sounded, I sprinted for the crossroads and let the game take some of the stress of having to face off against legends from around the multiverse.

Leaping over a trio of barrels that was in my way, I made a mental note to avoid ever touching a Katana The last thing I needed was the damn Cyborg Ninja or Sephiroth showing up because I could swing a piece of steel around better than them.

 ***Parkour has leveled up  
Developed from Military obstacle course training Parkour is the efficient use of movement to move through complex environments in the fastest and most effective method possible without assistive equipment.**

Smiling at yet another skill that would likely prove useful, I skidded into the Crossroads section and took a deep breath. The enemy team was coming, the Gun Kata skill activated and for the first time I let it work. It was a weird ability that acted more like the reflex test doctors do on your knee, my pistol came up and tracked to an empty section on the enemy's side moments before a camo-clad teen rushed around the corner. I could see his eyes widen in shock as I squeezed the trigger, the small white pellet struck his shoulder causing him to curse as he raised his hand signaling the hit.

* * *

A week later I stood in the bathroom of the observation deck of the CN tower in Toronto and carefully prepared my gear, the stark silence of the Instant Dungeon was a massive contrast to the burble of talking that had filled the place in the real world.

This was my first attempt at a Zombie run and I would bring great shame to my ancestors if I died to a freaking zombie after all the effort I put in.

Shame on myself, shame on my family, shame on my cow…

Shaking my head to clear it of the random thoughts, I settled down to double checking everything. The mask was firmly in place to counter any smells that the undead might have that would interfere with the job at hand. I'd bought the mask from a paint supply store, along with a particulate filter that did wonders keeping the more obnoxious fumes out, hopefully it would keep the rotting smell from making me gag.

I had once worked at a Section eight housing center for senior citizens and had the task of opening up doors to non-responsive residents that didn't check in for a week or more. If anyone ever tells you to rub mentholatum under your nose to block the smell, punch them in the throat for me. It doesn't block the smell, all it does is connect the smell of Menthol to the scent of rotting meat.

Do you have any idea how many things have menthol in them? Let me give you a hint, a lot of shit.

Once more, I shook my head to clear the rage that was building up from someone's idea of a prank a decade earlier.

The next item was a pair of range headphones, this had cut into what little money I had left over from the duel, but it allowed me to shoot the massive .44-40 round without impairing my ability to hear.

Hopefully that would keep the undead from sneaking up behind me as my ears were ringing.

Finally, a pair of goggles and a mesh net over my head held in place by a hat finished off my upper level.

My neck was as protected as it could be by a homemade, armored scarf. That was a polite way to say that I had woven a scarf out of copper wires I ripped out of empty buildings in my Dungeon world before wrapping it in a sheet for comfort and sewing it closed.

Already I had half a dozen ideas to make it better the next time, but it would do for now.

One edge of the scarf was tucked under my arm before it was wrapped twice around my neck and the trailing edge pulled through the middle so it would take a concentrated effort to pull it free. This had the added benefit of tying down the bottom of the mosquito netting so none of the bugs could gain access to my skin.

Knee, groin and elbow protection were added before a shirt and heavy overcoat, reinforced with the aforementioned braided cable locked everything down. Pants were next with leather chaps to help ward off the wayward teeth and finally, boots and gloves.

Cursing, I finally opted to go without one of the gloves as I had yet to find a pair that I could shoot with. Tucking the spare into my pocket, I belted the whole kit and caboodle down with the gun belt and sighed as I stared at myself in the mirror.

A dark curse later and I was undoing all of my hard work, freeing myself from the armor and gear before kicking open one of the stalls and relieving myself with a sigh.

Soon enough I was kitted up again and making a list of mental notes for the next time I tried something this stupid.

First and foremost would be a helmet. Getting knocked in the head would the spell end to my little adventure right quick and in a hurry.

Next would be a shit ton of ace bandages or wraps, because I could see my tasty pink skin peeking out at my wrist and ankles.

Third would be an actual bit of neck armor because the 'Tacti-Scarf' idea barely qualified as a success. It was crude and unwieldy and I was already itching in places that I couldn't get to.

Fourth would be another weapon. The revolver was decent and I had enjoyed my time in the airsoft field training with it, but six rounds meant that it was under equipped to deal with a zombie infestation. At least the .44-40 would make a good effort at dropping the zombies well enough.

With a deep breath I backed myself into a corner and said, "ID Create Zombie."

Unlike the 'Fade' method of the empty dungeon where everything just seems to turn into a mist and fade away, the Zombie dungeon gave little to no fucks as reality seemed to shatter like a pane of glass and left me to stand in a dark, warm, dark, smelly, dark room. Did I mention it was dark?

Yeah, my dumb ass forgot that things like 'Lighting' would be nonexistent after an apocalypse event.

"ID Escape," I hissed and felt my body twitch slightly before bouncing off something in the universe between.

' **You are unable to escape when enemies are near'**

In a flash I had mentally screeched through every curse word I knew in English, German, Russian and French as well as a half dozen dirty words I made up on the spot before taking a deep, steadying breath.

Having spent the majority of my life working third shift you would think I would have noticed my crippling Nyctophobia by now.

You would think.

With calm strides, I headed for where I remembered the bathroom door to be located and made my way towards the exit. And by calm I mean that I hit the door screaming, bowling over a pair of shambling undead, bouncing off the hallway wall and accelerating to speeds that would make Usain Bolt envious before bursting into the light of the observation deck like a freight train running hell bent for leather.

My arrival was amazingly enough not ignored. Either the manic charge through the doors or the banshee like shriek had somehow managed to alert the dozen undead in the room to my impending arrival.

I made a mental note to my author self to describe it as a war cry or something manlier, but a dark suspicion in the far reaches of my mind warned me that I would be properly humiliated by this no matter what I wanted.

Sliding to a stop, I made a quick mental calculation as the Bulldogger cleared leather. Pulling the weapon in line with the closest threat, I thumbed the hammer and waited for the front blade to place itself on the rotting face of the undead Canadian. The first Zombie was a half dozen feet from me when I finished lining up the shot and squeezed the trigger.

The pistol was loaded with one of the hottest loads I had ever heard of and that seemed to be what was created when I used the 'Gun Trick' ability unless I specifically unloaded and reloaded something else.

The rounds were obviously from the more modern Low Velocity set, but were hot loaded to sling the two hundred and twenty five grain slug out at speeds that challenged the older Winchester high velocity rifle rounds.

This, of course, had the gunsmith I had let fiddle with it in Oklahoma break out into a long list of vile commentary on whoever was stupid enough to make the round and myself in particular for being dumb enough to actually shoot it. I had left him a box of fifty to play with before running out the door.

Traveling at fifteen hundred feet per second, the round skipped the distance between barrel and head in a fraction of a second, punching through rotting meat and bone in a ghastly spray.

For a moment, I felt the bile rise up in the back of my throat before Gun Kata activated and I shifted to the right. I could feel my instincts screaming at me that my opponents should have fired their first shot, yet nothing came of it save for the garbled moaning of undead hunger.

Shifting around, I fired another round into a charging copse. Cursing myself for having to deal with Runners instead of the normal Shambler type zombies, even as the round punched through the dead man's neck, severing it's spine and dropping the creature to the ground.

A tingle just behind my left ear drew my attention next and without a look, I sent a round in that direction, the 'Thump' of yet another zombie joining the other two on the floor before my senses screamed that it was 'GTFO' time o'clock. Ignoring the mess, I took a tumbling dive over the spinal tapped undead, rolling across the blood soaked ground and firing a fourth round behind me.

Spinning to face my attackers I felt the bile rise up again, the zombie I had just shot, she had originally been a rather cute Polynesian girl, if my guess was right before her untimely demise. My shot had caught her on the side of the neck, ripping a dark bloody hole, but leaving her otherwise unaffected.

Fanning the hammer for the two remaining shots, I cursed as both of my shots hit her center of mass, but other than a twitch, did little to stop her and less than nothing to the nine others coming up behind her.

Thankfully, my height and reach were nearly a foot longer than her own. This allowed me to bring the heavy steel constructed revolver down across the top of her head, pulping it and coating my hand and arm in a horrible concoction of bone shards and essence of cranium.

Kicking her corpse towards the other nine, I took a moment to simply flip the gun around once before holstering it with a snap.

Experimentation had proven that I could either do twirls and spins, with each trick replacing a single round. Or do a trick and holster it and the weapon would reload itself if given a second or two.

Time that I, unfortunately, didn't really have. My hope was to sprint around the dead and open up enough space for my weapon to reload before clearing a couple more. In theory, I could kite the group around the observatory level long enough to whittle them down.

 **Challenge: King of the hill**

The Hoard knows you are here. Survive for 30 minutes atop the observation deck without dying to earn the 'King of the Hill' title and $5000

(30:00)

Y/N

"WHAT? NO! FUCK OFF!" I screamed before rushing towards the least occupied section of Zombies and using a low safety wall, I dove over the shambling undead. My skill in leaping had leveled up to a point where I could vault most humans from a standing start. My landing this time, however, could charitably be described as a belly flop. Rolling across the dirty, blood stained floor and with the skill of a drunk panda under attack by a hoard of firecracker armed teens, I scrambled to my feet and rushed across the room.

Spinning around I gave a brief short scream as a rotted hand grabbed me around the neck. With a pop the world went dark.

(A/n) Cow Tipping is an urban legend that has gained far too much traction. Cows lay down to sleep. Most Nativity scenes show a cow laying down, so why people think they sleep standing up and can't stand up after being tipped is beyond me.

If you sneak into a cattle field in the middle of the night, you will most likely find all the cows standing up. This is not because they sleep that way, but is a result of your noisy approach waking them up and they are curious (If you are lucky) and trying to find out what you are doing.

If you are not lucky, they will be grumpy at being woken up and will likely run you over a couple dozen times all while screaming the bovine equivalent of, 'SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!'

You will also step in cow pies, these are NOT urban legends and are in fact worse than you think.

If you want to see something close, look up steer wrestling. That's more of a Judo throw, but is by nature far cooler than pushing a top heavy mammal over in the dark.

Speaking of Cow Tipping…

Bill Picket is a Legend of the American west. The son of a former slave and one of thirteen children he was of African American and Cherokee descent and he became a legend when he pioneered the technique of 'Bulldogging.' A technique that had, up to this point, been the domain of the aptly named 'Bulldogs' that helped the ranch hands.

Bill decided that anything a dog could do he could do better, his original method required the cowboy to leap from the saddle, avoiding the horns of the angry animal, grip it around the neck while biting it's lower lip before falling backwards in what I can only assume was the origin of the 'Suplex' move made popular in wrestling nearly a hundred years later.

Yes, I do have the mental image of him suplexing a cow off a fence post and through the long bench tables they had out on the ranch, this is a mental image that I will cherish forever and never ceases to cause a chuckle.

This method of Bulldogging lost popularity in later years due to its violence and its bad habit of injuring or crippling the cowboys attempting it. It was replaced by the safer, 'Steer Wrestling' seen in Rodeos today. (Many sources attempt to state that they are the same thing, this is like saying Competition fighting is the same as Street fighting.)

Known as the 'Dusky Demon' and billing himself as a Comanche at times to avoid racial stereotypes, Bill Picket and his four brothers made a name for themselves in the Rodeo circuit where he worked with the likes of Buffalo Bill, Will Rogers and Bee Ho Gray.

When asked if he was scared, he was well known for shrugging and saying, "What's gonna happen, gonna happen."


End file.
